


Lines.

by EyebrowObsession



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Angst, Assisted Suicide, Bad Jokes, Dark, Dark Comedy, Dark Theme, Depression, Heavy Angst, Hell, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Murder Implied, Other, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Slurs, Triggers, Unconfirmed Relationship, Vent Writing, heavy theme, please take caution in reading.
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-21
Updated: 2015-08-21
Packaged: 2018-04-10 11:13:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4389617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EyebrowObsession/pseuds/EyebrowObsession
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Doctors make the worst patients. Especially when they deny they deserve to be one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Night.

Sometimes it would happen at night. It was one of the worst possibilities. He would wonder why he couldn't fall asleep. Perhaps he would blame it on the birds, a patient, stress, or caffeine. It was always an excuse. He knew why. He knew why, but he did not know **how.**

He would lie in bed. He would think and think. He would fantasize or maybe even read. Sometimes he did personal things. Sometimes he stated at the ceiling and counted the cracks in the beams. It always wound down to focusing on how he felt. 

How he was feeling... off. Not good, not bad. Why? Had something happened out of the ordinary? Usually, no. Tonight was a no. So.... what was this feeling? This lack of feelings. This grasping at spider thread words to describe something barely understood. Was he hungry? Was he tired? No. 

Frustrated with his own lack of understanding he would scold himself. 

Human emotion is complex. You are probably just tired. Besides, you don't need to understand yourself. You need to understand everyone else. **You're the Medic.**

That's right, the Medic. You understand everyone else and therefore you understand yourself. If you don't, you figure it out. Except... you haven't. Goodness, something must be wrong. With you. Something is wrong with you, the Medic. 

That wasn't possible. His eyebrows furrowed over the heavy silvered eyes. Sitting up in bed he sighed. A hand scratched at his face absent mindedly. He had no problem. He was just tired. He was perfectly healthy. Just tired. Just stressed. 

So are you saying you're less human? Get off your high horse. You think you're better than them? So you heal, so what? That makes you dependent on them. Not the other way around. They can simply respawn you know. If they didn't like you, you would still be at home. Useless.

He needed to stop that. It was silly. This was silly. Gritting his teeth he stood. He was a mature older person. He had no time for such fee **that's right you're supposed to be mature but look at you. Throwing a fit like a child.**

His frown pulled at the familiar wrinkles in his face. He was over these thoughts. He didn't need them. He wasn't hurt. He wasn't the one to fall victim to this disease. Otherwise he was unfit for his job. He was Medic. **You are the Medic.**

You are the Medic and you are failing. You know what this is? Of course you do. You are too prideful to accept it. It makes you weaker than you already were. You bring this team down. They hate you for it you know. They know you're broken. They're waiting to leave you. They've planned. They pity you so. You broken man. You worthless man. They've hired someone already. Because you don't matter, they'll tell you the day your replacement arrives. They say they care, but it is either out of convinience or habit. If they really knew they'd let you be. Surprisingly they haven't caught on to how you heal them instead of yourself because you bleed. They think you're being selfless, is that what you thought? Oh no, they know. They know you do it to punish yourself. For failing them. As it should be. You deserve consequence for your failure, otherwise it will happen again.

He felt the lines. The punishments. He remembered the numbers. The punishments before the numbers and lines. How many lessons did he need? He had to be good. Why did he mess up? 

Because you're human? Coward. Liar. You know damn well it is because you are lazy. You know what you could achieve. You're content with mediocrity. You weren't raised this way. You're a dissapointment. You hurt everyone with your lack of self discipline. You need to warn them of you. That you're broken. **YOU ARE THE MEDIC.** It is your job to protect them from harm, and you are the most harmful. The warnings are faded and old. 

He wasn't broken. He knew that. He was the Medic. He was a man. He was healthy. He couldn't make the warnings where they could see. 

Because you make the warnings ugly, and if they were to see them fresh they would be disgusted with you. The lines serve well when you've let them set. When they can be dismissed so they don't waste their energy asking and pretending to care. When they can see them, be told it was a long time ago, and go about their day, but remember the lines. The warnings.

**YOU ARE THE MEDIC. TAKE RESPONSIBILITY. PROTECT THE TEAM.**

Sometimes it would happen at night. It was one of the best possibilities. He would wonder why he hadn't fallen asleep earlier. It was the stress. It was paperwork. It was the birds. It was a patient. It was not him. He wasn't suffering. He was in control. He wasn't endangering the team. He was giving them warning. He was protecting them from concern or being burdened. Besides. It wasn't much. They were what he liked to call: "Bitch cuts". They were insignificant. He'd seen worse. It didn't matter that there were seven. It was just seven little lines. Little warnings. 

**You are the Medic.** Good job. Glad to see you've accepted that your body is worthless, as your mind. Cover yourself up, you gross piece of shit. Go to sleep. They'll get concerned about your performance. It makes you a burden. At least you're warning them. 


	2. Trigger.

It had been a long battle, and even though they had won, he felt no different. He felt tired. The tired that made him want to lie down and let himself be shot. That kind of tired. He had to keep moving. Couldn't be a burden. Besides, respawn would just pick him up, and the team would begin to question his health. Even though he was perfectly fine... just tired... 

He was sitting on the bench in order to tie his boots when the Engineer approached him. He's slipped off one and looked up with a small smile. 

"Hallo Herr Engineer, how vas your end of zhe battle?"

The Engineer seemed tired, he realized. Was something wrong? Maybe he was feeling unwell. 

"T'be honest it warn't nothin' special Doc. It was hotter than hell though, makes me glad we're inside. Gotta get air conditioning on th'newer side of our buildin' though. With only us nine it makes runnin' around pretty taxin'." He sat next to him, and he scooted over to make room. It looked like Engineer wasn't just bothered about the heat.

"Is somezhing zhe matter, Herr Engineer?" And he grew even more concerned by the sighed answer. 

"Naw, I was just wonderin' if I could take a look at yer Medigun, give 'er a few updates. It doesn't look like she heals ya too well anymore."

The Medic himself sighed and frowned, wrinkles pulling in the expression. His hands rested on his knees in fists. His shoulders slumped forward. Didn't the Engineer have faith in him? In his machine? He was the Engineer, and his job was to work with machines, but Medic worked with health, and his machine worked with health. He created it to do so. He had updated it recently even. It gave his patients more healing at the price of his own. It was a fair trade. His teammates needed the extra health. So what if it took a few seconds to give only a slow rise in health?

"Are ya okay partner?"

"Ja, I'm fine." He sighed again and straightened his posture. Looking tiredly to his boots he decided to focus there instead. He heard a dissaproving noise and Emgineer's voice had a biting tone in it. A hurt tone he wouldn't recognize until later.

"No, yer not. Yer upset. Yer upset and ya don't even talk to me about it. Ya used to talk t'me all the time! It seems like whenever I talk t'ya, or hell, even am in the same room ya get all upset!!" Medic looked up to see that Engineer had taken off his protective goggles. His denim blues were dark and his eyebrows had drawn together over them. A frown was pulling on his usually happy cheeks. Medic could see the anger in his tense posture. 

The Mechanic didn't seem happy that Medic hadn't answered to him yet. 

"What's wrong with you Medic?! Yer tired and ya look upset whenever I see you! Do I /trigger/ you??"

You're becoming a burden. They're going to find out and they're going to realize what worthless trash you really are. How lazy you are. How destructive. How bad. Engineer has already caught on. 

"....Doc..." He looked over to see that the Engineer had put a hand on his shoulder, and his heart jumped into his throat.

"What's wrong? Talk t'me."

Medic ran a hand through his hair, trying to fix what didn't need fixing. His leg bounced, his nails scratched his neck and scalp as he ran his hand through once again. His throat bobbed as he swallowed thickly. His teeth dug into his lip as his eyes looked away. Pathetic. 

"...Doc." Engineer's voice sounded aggravated again. He was growing angry. He was going to lash out like before. Maybe it would be like how he lashed out during the old arguments with their old Soldier...

"I'm **fine.** " He got up, shrugged away the hand, grabbed his machine, and got out of there. 

Engineer picked up the boot that the Medic had left behind and sighed. 


	3. Jokes.

He often found himself with the Sniper and Spy. It was an event that had started when they first were hired, in order to get the support classes well accustomed to each others styles. It had worked extremely well. In fact, the three were close friends because of it. Being close friends also meant their humor was rather unique. Many inside jokes were shared, and it seemed they all had the same humor. 

Dark Humor. Offensive, horrible, and one hundred percent wrong. It all stemmed from different places for the three. For Spy, he found his humor he made jokes about going to hell and such. Sniper liked to make jokes about killing others.

Medic liked to make jokes about himself.

Their joking was always casual, always during small get togethers with food and various kinds and amounts of alcohol. Sometimes the jokes came quickly and one after the other. Today was one of those days. 

They were all sitting around, a few bottles of the finest MANN CO. had to offer, even if it was well under Spy's taste. Sniper had his feet propped on the table, Spy had lit a cigarette, and Medic slouched forward with his elbows on the table. 

"Oi, Spoi, what's th'difference between a dead body and a tv?"

"....What?"

"Oi don't have a tv in me van!"

"'Ou are going to 'ell for zhat one Mundy, we'll 'ave to make it a race now, seeing as I'm well on my way!"

The two began to laugh, joined by Medic briefly, who **Maybe if you make a joke they'll find you funny and decide that you're awful presence is worth the entertainment.**

"I'll see you bozh at zhe finish line, ve all know I'm not going to last much longer!"

"It looks like we are running for second place zhen!" And the Spy gave Sniper a mock glare before all three were laughing once more.

**Looks like you're good for something. That's right. They're laughing at you. They know you are disgusting, but also that your disgustingness is a source for comedy. Like a freak at a freak show. Too bad those freaks are actually decent human beings inside.**

"I'll have a good lead on you two as vell! I happen to have a date vizh a very lovely length of rope, I have to vear a paper bag zhough, vouldn't vant to scare her off vizh mein ugly features!"

"If the date goes bad Oi could always put ya down noice and proper ya know!" Sniper winked, Spy snorted, and Medic grinned. 

"Careful Herr Sniper, I might keep you to zhat promise~"

**NO. THAT IS REVOLTING. HE IS JOKING. WHY WOULD YOU TAKE IT LIKE THAT? HE IS YOUR TEAM MATE. DO YOU WANT TO BOTHER HIM WITH YOUR OWN DEATH? HE WOULD BE SO INCONVENIENCED. HE'D RATHER BE WITH SPY. HE LIKES SPY. HE DOESN'T LIKE YOU. DO HIM A FAVOR AND OFF YOURSELF. HE'D LAUGH IF YOU ASKED. HE DOESN'T CARE. STOP BEING A BRAT. GROW UP. BE A MAN. KILL YOURSELF.**

"At zhis rate Mundy I zhink zhe Devil 'imself might come and escort 'ou to 'ell, if not, I'll 'ave to put in a recommendation. I've got a pretty 'igh place in 'ell myself 'ou know."


	4. Do it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This last week I've been at my biological father's, so I wasn't able to update.  
> Don't worry, I've got plenty of time now.

He'd always thought this scenario through when he was bored. That scenario was disgusting. In that scenario he was a martyr. He was someone strong and at peace. He sacrificed himself and was remembered not for his self destruction. **He was a true Medic.**

This was perfect. This was how it was meant to happen. It would be, that is, if the person pointing the gun at his face wasn't a better human being than he himself was. 

There was no one else around them. He was simply maimed and left behind in the battle. He'd been found by the enemy... but the enemy was hesitant. Even as he kneeled on legs filled with bullets. Even as he grinned and grabbed the fabric of the Blu's shirt. Even as he laughed joyfully. 

"JUST DO IT ALREADY! SHOOT ME!" His eyes were unfocused and smarting with tears he wouldn't let fall.

The Blu Scout had dropped his gun, shaking with fear. His eyes were so wide that the pink around the edges showed. The baby blues twitched as they desperately tried to focus, mind clouded with fear. 

Even he thinks that you're a waist of time. Look how he shakes with the effort not to laugh at you. He probably finds your begging to be hilarious. He'll share it with his team and they'll have a grand time with it. You coward. You weakling. You undeserving sewer rat. 

He shook the younger man harshly, earning a shaky sounding sob. 

"Please.... kill me. Kill me Scout. It's just a part of our jobs. The only difference is zhat I vant to die..." He didn't care about respawn. It had been so long since he'd actually been killed in battle. It'd been so long since he'd had those fifteen seconds of bliss. It'd been so long since he could stop being a burden for just a little bit.

The Blu's eyes focused in on his left left arm, the sleeve having ripped off at the shoulder. The Bostonian's mouth gaped open. He looked like a fish.

"....You're freakin' insane....." He pushed Medic's hands off of him and picked up the gun, eyes still locked in on the awful marks... 

"You zhought I vasn't. ..?" He laughed, bitter and hopeful for death. 

"...... I'm getting your team's Heavy... this is just sad..

**YOU CAN'T LET THEM KNOW THEY CAN'T FIND OUT YOU CAN'T LET THEM KNOW THEY THEY CAN'T FIND OUT YOU CAN'T LET THEM KNOW THEY CAN'T FIND OUT**

..... 

He'd ruined his chance. Medic shook as if he was in an extreme fever. He pulled the bone saw from the Scout's chest, and the corpse toppled backwards in a bloody heap. 

He sobbed, curled up like a dying animal, whimpering and wishing his lungs would stop burning, that his chest didn't feel like it was being tightened in a vice. His head screamed and his legs burned as they bled. 

A blue light caught his eye.

He grinned just as the enemy Sniper pulled the trigger 

That's right. You selfish prick. Relish your fifteen seconds of nothingness. Enjoy your death. Too bad you'll come back. Too bad that you'll have to return, a disappointment and a laughing stock. You deserve Soldier's scolding.

Medic stood with an exhausted sigh, pushing up his glasses slowly, his eyes dead and unfocused. One day he wouldn't have to worry about respawn anymore. One day he could stop being a burden.

"...Doktor...." The softness of the local voice startled him, eyes afraid as a hand no smaller than his head turned his body around.

The Heavy had a dark expression, eyes disappointed.

"Team is having talk....you will come to us after battle."


	5. Breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this isn't a follow up of last chapter.  
> I needed this.

He couldn't breath. 

And for once he wasn't glad. 

His throat was tight, his chest felt too small for his lungs. He couldn't get a good breath in before it was exhaled, like someone forcing it from his airways by pressing on his chest with both hands. He'd been feeling sick, and he snuffled gross and coughed constantly. His eyes burned and ached. 

He's on the phone, and he might actually need an inhaler. 

He's begging and pleading for the person on the line not to go. He knows that tone. He knows that goodbye. 

**They're leaving you. You hurt them and they're leaving. They actually loved you. You hurt them. They're going to hurt. You know them. You know them well. You know yourself well. You know that if it was saying goodbye you'd cut yourself open. You'd drink and inject yourself with sedatives. That's how bad you hurt them. You monster.**

His voice cracks and his breath rasps like an exhausted dog with pneumonia. 

"DON'T GO, OH GOD, PLEASE! ! PLEASE DON'T GO LIKE THAT! I'M SORRY! I'M SO SORRY!!"

The phone crackles and they say they're so tired... 

His awareness was bound to the phone. The voice. He couldn't breath. Oh god , he couldn't **b r e a t h**

His pleads were now distorted by sobs and a shaking body, leaned into the wall with louder wheezes than before.

**Remember the last time they said they were tired? They said they were tired and they said goodbye like this.They meant your tired. They meant tired of themselves. They fell asleep before anything could happen... but they must be wide awake now. Wide awake with that feeling of hurt and tiredness.They're going to do it. Because you're a worthless piece of shit and you HURT THEM. HURT THEM HURT THEM MONSTER YOU MONSTER YOU FUC**

**"Stop it. You'r** e making the reception terrible. I'm going to bed. Goodnight." 

Click. 

**.....Selfish prick. You thought it was your fault? It's not always about you. That's what you always think. God. You thought they were going to kill themselves? That's something /you/ would do. They aren't you. They're better than you. They deserve better than you could ever hope to give, because you can't even give anything that has worth. They are good. They are better. Let them hurt you. Tell them they can hurt you. It's the only way. You're worthless. Make yourself entertaining. You aren't worthy of them. Unequal. Worthless. Piece of shit. You deserve to be abused. THEY WOULD NEVER DO THAT WHY WOULD YOU ASK WHY WOULD YOU THINK THAT THAT IS AWFUL HOW DARE YOU??? HOW DARE YOU?? YOU UNDESERVING PIECE OF SHIT. YOU SAY YOU LOVE THEM YET YOU THINK THAT? YOU MUST BE A LIAR. YOU MUST BE A REAL CROCK OF SHIT. YOU RAT.**

He still couldn't breath well, but he forgot about the inhaler. Because now he was happy. Now he was ready to die. 

But he didn't. 


	6. Talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter picks up from after the battle, when Heavy had asked Medic to come to a meeting.

After the battle he followed his normal routine. He cleane his tools and put them away, he slipped off his boots and lab coat. He put them in his locker, glancing at the tally marks on the metal. Picking up a small piece of shrapnel he'd kept from battle he added eight more to the count. Then he closed the locker.  
By the time he was done, everyone was gone, save for the Pyro.   
"...... Is somezhing zhe matter?"   
" *Follow me* " The fire starter mumbled with a single for gesture. Medic hesitated. Frowning lightly he opened his mouth to question why, but Pyro had grabbed his hand. Forced to follow the doctor decided to do so in silence. He did not want to go to this meeting...

**You just want to avoid the inevitable. They're getting rid of you. Face it like a man. You coward. Besides, it's better this way. You can finally get off the respawn. You can finally kill yourself. Be less of a bother. Yeah, that's right, take the easy way out. There are children in worse conditions who want to live more than you do. You spoiled brat. What a work you are. Go on and cry. You know it's the end. Welcome it. Even if you don't deserve the peace of death.**

They entered the room, and it was like someone had died. Everyone was instantly silent. Pyro sat him down, then sat next to him, still holding his hand.  
Medic pulled his hand away and sighed deeply.  
".... Vhat is zhis?" He asked, and Heavy answered for them.  
"Team is worried about you, Doktor. It has been quiet for that mouth, usually there is many words about our health. Lately there is less."  
Medic's eyebrows pulled together in the middle of his forehead, creating sharp wrinkles. His hands, which were on the table, balled up into loose fists. His foot tapped the floor as he bounced his knee. His shoulders straightened with his spine.  
"....So... because I assume you are all now capable of taking yourselves, and have chosen to pick at you less, zhere must be somezhing vrong vizh me."  
At this the Heavy looked uncomfortable, a light frown making his features look older. He glanced to the Engineer, who was sitting next to the Pyro.  
"No, that's not what we're sayin' at all. It's not how ya care fer us that has got us all concerned. It's the way ya've been actin'. Yer quiet, ya don't seem t'smile anymore, 'n yer dyin' in battle more often tha-"  
"I've had a bad veek. So vhat? I am not a child, I don't need to be vatched und babied like zhi-"  
"FOR CHROIST'S SAKE, WE'VE SEEN TH'BLOODY MARKS ALL OVER YA! " The Sniper had stood, and he almost spat everywhere with how he snapped at the Doctor. Medic could feel the heat from his glare, even if the sunglasses shielded those eyes. Medic jumped as the Australia's fist slammed on the table.  
"DON'T FUCKIN' ACT LOIKE YOUR FOINE. ALL'VE US HERE KNOW YOUR NOT. WE'RE TROYIN' T'HELP YA DAMN IT!!" Medic was shaking lightly, his knee bouncing a mile a minute. His heart pounded and the blood in his ears roared like a train.The sound around him seemed to be far away all the sudden. He watched as Spy placed a hand on Sniper's shoulder, who shrugged roughly and started yelling at the Frenchman. Demoman got up to break the two apart as they began to throw punches.

**See. They know. They know and it's hurting them. You make them worry. You make them unhappy. You're tearing them apart from each other. This is your fault. You should have hid it. You should have tried to disable respawn and kill yourself sooner. This is what you do. You hurt and ruin. This talk is to make you stop, to go back to being the robot you should be. They just want someone functional. They just want their friend back. Why can't you be normal? Why can't you fix yourself? Because you're lazy. A piece of shit. You like hurting yourself. You sick son of a bitch, not that you don't deserve it.**

"He doesn't deserve that... Oi just wanted to help him..." The sound comes back, his dull eyes refocus, and he sees the Sniper sitting. The man has his hands on his face, and Spy is rubbing his back. Everyone has a pained look on their faces, some more awkward than others. He feels a hand on his again.  
It's Pyro. He gives Medic's hand a few pats before the older man pulls away.  
When Scout starts to tear up Medic leaves. They were trying to fix what wasn't broken.

**They don't deserve to be so stressed and worked up after battle. Go hide, you coward. Be a dick and leave them like that. They won't try again. They know you aren't worth it.**


	7. Mirror.

Medic stared at the reflection in the mirror, dull eyes slowly observing every feature. 

This was what he was. This man in the mirror. Well, it was his physical dorm anyways.... Sort of. He wasn't exactly sure. He stared and stared. This was not what others saw. What the others saw was also twisted and tagged by their own thoughts. Their own labels and experiences. It was also why things so familiar to him could be seen as new and trivial to others. It frightened him, how different another could be, even if they all shared the same experiences. 

He studied the face in the mirror. He didn't feel like this was him. He felt like he was nothing. Just a concise trapped within a volume of determined size. However it was hard to feel that volume. He could feel his hands, because his fingers rubbed together and his palms supported his lean on the counter. Yet he could not define anything else really. It was as if he did not have a torso, or arms. He did not feel anything on them, and so they felt nonexistent. 

He sighed, and watched as the face in the mirror grew a heavy expression. It made him look angry. 

It was common for others to ask if he was angry. In reality, he usually was just upset. 

The dead eyes of his reflection stared back at him tiredly. 

There were a few features he could always say he liked... his eyes.... his eyebrows... the strongness of his jaw... 

Yet whenever he felt happy about those, he told himself to quit being so vain. It was good to stay humble. When he was vain, he would get confident. When he got confident, it would all come crashing down in an instant. 

It was because he was weak, and did not deserve to be confident. He needed to be reminded of what little good he had. 

**By some poor fool who has no idea what a piece of shit you really are. Grow up and quit being such a helpless baby. Reaching out for help? Help for what? There is nothing wrong with you. Stop being such a child. You are not bleeding. You are not dying. You are very much alive. How many would give their lives to have your health? Countless! Be grateful for your spoiled life, you brat. Go ahead, be a dick and be proud of some stupid little features. They're all on the surface. Once anybody gets past that it's game over.**

The man in the reflection lazily scratched at his scabbed over lines on his arm. He wishes they were deeper, so he could feel the burning better.

**Author's Note:**

> You're not a burden. You aren't worthless. You aren't ugly. You aren't an inconvenience. People do not simply use you. Your friends are there for you. You don't need to give warnings.   
> It isn't all of you. It feels like it is, but it isn't. There's more.   
> Talk to someone. Anyone. A friend. A sister. A stuffed animal. Someone online. A website built for venting. It may hurt... but it will make it better.  
> If you're afraid to be happy, it's okay. Happiness can be a scary thing. You don't have to jump right to being happy though. You can start with feeling a little bit more okay.   
> The cycle is comfortable. The thoughts are familiar. Talking can feel awful and like an annoying rant.  
> But the cycle isn't going to get better...  
> If you think you are hurting others or being selfish by talking or feeling the way you are, it's okay. But know that you aren't selfish. You can make others feel better or things better by taking care of yourself first.   
> Stand up, stretch. Breath. Take a drink of something. Get a snack. If you'd like, shower, or clip your nails. Watch your favorite childhood show. Watch a sad movie for an excuse to cry. Eat something you love. Do something you love. Give your family or friends or stuffed animals or pet a hug.   
> http://helpcorgi.tumblr.com/post/78169282786/hello-friends-many-of-you-have-felt-very-upset  
> (I do not run this blog but it should help.)  
> http://www.suicide.org/


End file.
